The Common Misconceptions
by Kavaul
Summary: There is a problem when your only hope is an albino Warden who can't read the fine print and burns in the sun. Not that Alistair's complaining.


**Author: Kavaul**

**Summary: It's rather awkward when your only hope is an albino Warden who can't read the small print and burns in the sun. **

**This chapter; Leliana narrates. Misconceptions are had. A good story is made.**

**AN: Quiet, you, I know I should be working on my other stuff. I've had writer's block **_**so fucken bad**_** though, so this is my first (vaguely good) idea since, what, ever?**

**Have fun.**

The roads were muddy and slick with rain, and the Cousland was still wearing the vaguely ridiculous helmet, visor down, Leliana noted. The day was sunny, the birds were singing, and it seemed that on every good day the Cousland (she hadn't yet acquired her full name – it didn't seem important at the time, she supposed) insisted on traveling the shortest distance possible before hiding in some cave.

Sten was by her side, quiet and impassable like a human tower, but he didn't help her when she made false starts of slipping on the mud, righting herself before she could muddy her armor more.

Leliana was, of course, rather curious as to what their _relation_ship was, but she supposed she could ask about it once they were camped safely off the albeit quickly-baking road – and besides, Sten didn't seem quite the _type_. She'd just joined, though, and Sten acted like he'd been here much longer than her already.

She squinted at them, then looked to her side, noting Alistair and Morrigan were in one of their spats once more. The rogue-turned-lay-sister-turned-Grey-Warden-assistant watched Alistair gravitate to her with amiable friendliness after the banter was done with some vague horror in the back of her head.

Leliana hadn't quite made solid what she thought of Alistair yet, other than the fact that he was remarkably like a puppy with paws too large for it. She wasn't quite sure how to respond to him yet – the Warden had shown some interest in him (not that she'd been listening, of course) but she didn't want to get along with him _too_ well.

He was rather vain, and reminded her a little of some Orlesian tricks she'd used back in the day. It made her uncomfortable to see one of her methods so purely done; the original and the sincere.

The Warden stopped, looking off into the forest and thrusting her neck a little, as if she were squinting under the visor, and said something to Sten before the rest of the group gathered round them. He'd answered before Leliana shouldered her way into the impromptu circle.

"We can go into the clearing just beyond the trees to camp tonight – this road is mostly abandoned, and we can fight any bandits off if we keep watch in turns," The Cousland-Warden said matter-of-factly, letting Sten lead as she followed.

Then she paused, turning to look – at least in the direction of Leliana – and waved her over.

Leliana stared, and tried not to feel targeted. She sent a small prayer to the Maker before jogging lightly over to the Warden, smoothing down her Chantry dress out of a desire to – to what? impress her?

The Warden took off her helmet, appraising the shaded area, and looked at her. Now that Leliana saw her, she held a strong resemblance to Sten – white hair and red-pink-violet eyes.

Then the Warden spoke, and she noted that, beyond the hair and eyes, they really didn't quite have that much in common. The skin was pale, as if it had been rubbed in with white flour, and she had squint marks around her eyes.

Perhaps it was from her mother, the father having been Qunari?

Leliana considered this new turnabout before realizing that, yes, the Warden was talking to her, voice cool and with the faint accent of pride and royalty.

"I hope you… I hope you are familiar enough with battle to not hesitate; we are going against darkspawn, and there is no mercy in that. We will need the expertise, the knowledge you can give us, but we also expect that you cover our backs." She said, eyes steady and hands behind her back. "I'm sure we'll get along; if you need me, please, just talk."

Leliana nodded eagerly, brushing red hair out of her eyes. "I won't fail – the Maker appointed me for this task, and I do not intend to disappoint the Maker in it." She said empathetically, eyes wide. The Maker only gave her one chance, and she could not squander it away with foolish dreams of doing it alone.

The Warden gave her a vague wave away, turning her head in expectation to stare at Sten as he noted something too quiet to hear, staring back at – _oh_! Her.

The rogue turned away and tried not to feel as if she'd been trying to listen in on their conversation.

She startled at a crash as armor, weapons, and a pendant and belt dropped next to her appointed tent (Alistair had shouted happily from across the camp that she could have the one next to – yes, that one with the tree and the bush with little flowers) and the Warden stared expectantly at her.

Leliana stared back, than at the gear. "Oh! Uh, is this mine?" She said, trying not to sound as awkward and off-kilter as she felt. The Warden gave a faint smile. "Yes – it's better than fighting in your dress. Please, choose what you want."

The former Chantry sister stared after her, then made a mental note; the Cousland Warden even _acted _like Sten. This could not be a coincidence! It had to be her _father_.

The Maker had, of course, brought the Warden and her father together out of _fate_! No matter how her old noble family had taken care of her, of _course_ she had been abandoned on their doorstep, alone, cold – and they'd taken her in out of the _kindness_ in their hearts, considering her one of their own even to the _deaths_.

She could feel a good bard-story coming on, right in front of her; oh, the tragedy – had the Warden even told her father she was his, or was it the other way around? How could they delay something as huge as this?

After all, like father, like daughter, she always said – regardless of raising, she could always discern the fathering by the behavior of the child, because it would _surely_ be exactly like the father's.

It was inherited, of course!

Leliana picked up a studded leather armor top and some daggers, looking positively gleeful at this thought of tragedy and romance.

Sten looked vaguely worried from across the camp after catching her expression, carrying in several rabbits to the cheers of Alistair and the complaints of (_if Alistair cooks again – well. I shall cook for tonight, if only to spare myself from his abhorrent cooking. 'tis out of kindness._) Morrigan, and the Warden was seated firmly on one of the logs by the fire, warming herself and squinting at a book with her dog, Rocky by her side.

Oh, Leliana thought, this would be _perfect._


End file.
